


Inconvenient Empathy

by TheSmolBirb



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Critically Ill Hannibal, Developing Relationship, Injured Will, M/M, Sassy Chiyoh, Sickfic, Slow Burn, descriptions of illness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-08-22 00:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8266067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSmolBirb/pseuds/TheSmolBirb
Summary: Post The Wrath of the LambAfter the fall Will and Hannibal are under Chiyoh's care. Will has only just began to process the recent events when Hannibal's condition becomes critical. Faced with Hannibal's potential death Will is forced to confront the mixed emotions of the past five years as well as a future that could be without Hannibal. NO MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> This fic shall be uploaded in three sections. I am unable to give a timeline as to when it will be updated due to school as well as work. 
> 
> Special thanks to all of the wonderful people on Twitter who have pushed me to get this idea written out and publish on AO3!

When Will had pulled Hannibal over the side of the cliff, he had been prepared to die.

As their bodies plunged into the Atlantic he was ready to give himself over to the ocean, to be lost in its depths where his broken body would never be found. He welcomed it and the oblivion that would follow.

What he had not been prepared for were strong hands grabbing his shirt collar, yanking him towards the surface, and prying him from the cold embrace of his chosen resting place. Because of them, instead of sinking until he finally succumbed to the pressure of the sea, he was hauled upwards and dropped unceremoniously upon an unforgiving metal surface. As he lay trembling form cold and pain, it was mystery to him why the universe had decided once again to spare his life.

Less than twenty-four hours later, he was certain he knew why. It was the same reason that he hadn’t been claimed by encephalitis, or bled out from a knife to his gut. His attention wavered between this certainty and Chiyoh.

She had him seated on the edge of the bathtub as she worked to sew him back together. Her left hand pressed down on Will’s shoulder, just above his knife wound, while the other guided the needle and surgical thread through his tattered flesh. Each pull of the thread sent a new current of pain through his arm, causing him to wince. That small action only amplified the pain as his facial muscles flexed and tugged against the stitches in his cheek.  Seeing her mouth twitch upwards at his involuntary response he grit his teeth, refusing to give her anymore enjoyment as a result of his discomfort.

As the needle entered his sore skin once more, Will finally broke the silence between them.

“Why didn’t you let me die?” His voice was low, the words rough and the act of speaking left his throat burning.

“Why do you ask questions you know the answers to?” Her own voice was even as she pulled the needle upwards through the wound.

“Maybe because I want to hear it from someone else.”

“Because Hannibal wanted you to live.” She said simply, pausing to examine her work.

“You’re ecstatic I’m sure.”

The final yank on the needle and thread sent pain coursing through Will’s shoulder, leaving him with no doubt about how she felt.

“I would have been more than happy to leave you to rot,” Chiyoh replied. She reached into the first aid kit at her feet, drawing out a tube of antibiotic ointment. “But had I let you die, he would have killed me. That I am sure of.”

The woman began to massage the ointment into the skin around the freshly stitched wound, applying just enough pressure to cause his eyes to water.

“His attachment to you is not healthy. Even now, he has asked about your condition.” Her lips pursed as she dropped the ointment back into the kit. Within the next few minutes she had bandaged his shoulder and exited the bathroom with Will in tow.

As they walked down the small hallway Will realized that the bathroom was the only separation between himself and Hannibal. Once an ocean had stood between them but now there were just two walls. They stopped at Hannibal’s room and Will’s eyes lingered for a moment on the door. It was closed but he could hear faint stirrings from within.  

The idea of his former psychiatrist and friend restless and riddled with pain aroused only the faintest traces of concern. There was no urge however to bust open the door and come to Hannibal’s aid.

His eyes slid from the door back to Chiyoh who had been watching him coolly.

“He is doing poorly.” She said, expression flat. “The bullet caused more damage than I expected. It is fortunate I was able to locate a doctor of any sort of skill set.”

“I guess it’s also fortunate that the bathroom could be used as an impromptu surgical suite?” Will asked, returning her stare.

Chiyoh continued as if she had not heard the comment. “I will remain here until he is in stable condition. You have little choice but to do the same.” She paused, “I will not allow him to be caught a second time, especially not as a result to your actions.” She turned the knob and slipped into Hannibal’s room.

Before the door closed, Will was able to catch a glimpse of the man inside. Hannibal lay on his back atop twisted sheets. His bare chest rose and fell far too quickly. Will’s eyes wandered from the man’s pale face then slowly down his torso, eyes finally coming to rest on the bandages that encircled his abdomen. The wrappings were stained with blood just above the gunshot wound, but it was no comparison to the blood that had soaked Hannibal’s shirt on the night they had slain The Dragon.

When the door closed, Will remained staring for just a few seconds longer. Multiple emotions jockeyed for his attention but now he was exhausted, in pain, and desperate for sleep.

As he gingerly lay down on his bed he stared at the wall in an attempt to erase the image of Hannibal’s face, pale and twisted in pain, from his mind. To his dismay, the wall was blank, void of any distinguishing features to focus his attention on and this only made the picture of Hannibal’s broken body in his mind all the more clear.

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Will’s hands were clenched around his blankets, knuckles white against the fabric. The first time he’d been roused it had been from a twisted dream of dismembered corpses and black blood in the moonlight. He had been grateful for the soft click of Hannibal’s door opening down the hall. It had shifted the stillness of the safe house, providing him a lifeline that he clung on to with every fiber of his mind. He had held onto that sound for a moment before seeking for the padding of the other man’s feet upon the carpet.

Will couldn’t count the number of times he’d succumbed to panic attacks during the therapy sessions he’d had with Hannibal. When he had experienced them and Hannibal approached, Will had been able to adjust his breathing to match the psychiatrist's measured footfalls.

Will tried to do that now, to slow his rapid breaths and match them to the predictable gait of his former friend but it was to no avail. Hannibal made his way slowly from his own doorway to the bathroom, his stride halting. After a few more uneven steps there was a muffled thud. It was as if the other man had thrown his arm up against the wall to prevent a fall. There was another pause, before the bathroom door opened and shut with the snap of an engaged lock.

The sounds of coughing came after that, muffled not only by the wall but by a hand as well. The coughing turned to gagging in a matter of seconds, followed by the sound of knees hitting laminate floor, and the unmistakable retching that was always accompanied by vomit. Will, who had been lying on his back, turned so that he was facing the wall, his face only inches away from it.

Hannibal continued to empty his stomach of what Will was certain were meager contents. Will closed his eyes so tightly his head began to ache. He found himself swallowing hard, fighting the nausea he wasn’t certain was truly his own.

_God damn_ his ‘talent’. _God fucking damn it_ in its supposed perfection **.**

He curled in on himself as he heard Hannibal retch for the fourth time, his own guts twisting beneath his arms he’d wrapped around his stomach. 

Over the next few days, Will’s mind and his body made Hannibal’s pain his own. It became a routine that he loathed.

While Hannibal was down the hall, locked away in his room, it was easy for Will to meditate on the life he once lived.

He hadn’t been unhappy then, when he had taught at the academy. Despite his dislike for being involved with people he had loved teaching…as well as the paycheck provided by the FBI, that had been more than enough for him to live on. At the end of each day, he was able to return to Wolf Trap, where he had made the small house he’d bought his _home_. On days off Will would take the dogs up to the lake playing fetch with them intermittently as he fished. Will had been as close to at peace as he ever had been in his life during his years in that house with his dogs.

The life he had crafted had been taken from him in such a short amount of time he hadn’t been able to fully grieve the loss of it until now.

When Hannibal entered his life his foundations were shaken. That foundation had never been solid and Jack had believed that the psychiatrist could keep Will together, which had been true. Hannibal had that ability but he also had the ability to dissolve the solid ground Will had built for himself. As the ground beneath Will’s feet fell away, Hannibal had been sure to shatter Will’s mind as well.

Will had shifted through the shards, clinging to any bit of sanity he could find amongst what was left of his world. Each shard, be that his job or his friends, was ripped away from him time and time again leaving him to feel more lost than before.

In those quiet stretches of time Will had to think between Hannibal’s episodes of vomiting, the raw anger, resentment, and pain hit him hard. Will had resigned to the idea that when he had pulled them over the cliff he would be free of all the negativity that plagued him like an infection of his blood. Death had seemed to be the only cure yet…every time Hannibal was overcome by his current illness, every time he and Will were mere feet apart, Will’s chest ached.

In all the years Will had known Hannibal, he had never seen the man at anything less than pristine health. In his mind Hannibal had been unstoppable, a force that was akin to that of natural disasters which left blood strewn paths in their wake.

The sixth night into their stay at the apartment Will was stretched out atop his blankets and staring into the darkness of his room as he desperately sought sleep. The days had felt long recently, with this being the worst. Hannibal’s bouts of illness had become more frequent, to the point where Will was unable to rest.

Each time Hannibal was sick, Will’s own body responded in kind. During these episodes, he was thankful for the few feet of separation between them; that he couldn’t see Hannibal’s face. It meant that he didn’t have to be subjected to the other man’s emotions as well.  

It had been nearly an hour of quiet, to which Will was grateful for. Not only did it mean his own body was no longer riddled with sympathetic pain but it could mean that Hannibal was beginning to recover…

“Will Graham!” Chiyoh’s voice cut through the silent apartment.              

Will jolted upright in bed, mentally cursing as the pain in his shoulder flared. “Do you need to yell?” Even as the words left him he knew there was no reason for her to call on him unless-

“His condition has worsened.“

In the few seconds it took for her to say this Will had grabbed his glasses, stumbled from bed, and opened the door. She only glanced at him before turning on her heel.

“I have done my best to control the infection but it appears a secondary one has developed.” Chiyoh explained.

Shouldering the door to Hannibal’s room open, she made her way in leaving Will to stand motionless in the doorway.

Overloaded, Will’s senses grappled for his attention. In an attempt to calm his racing mind he inhaled deeply through his nose. Sweat, vomit, and blood combined with the stifling room’s air. The noxious stench did nothing to lessen the headache which had threatened to overtake him for the past few days.

Heat rose to Will’s face as he crossed the short distance that separated him from the other man. Hannibal lay exposed upon sheets soiled with perspiration. His face was ashen. The rest of the man’s skin had taken on the same hue, making him look far more like a corpse than one of the living.

Hannibal’s eyes opened as Will came to a stop beside his bed. They were bloodshot, searching with dilated pupils. They darted about the room, to Chiyoh, to the window, the open door…then to Will.

When they flitted towards the empath, and settled on him, Hannibal’s attention appeared to focus. It wasn’t for long but the eye contact held recognition.

That brief moment of eye contact was enough to rouse Will from his momentary stupor and his own eyes snapped up, locking on Chiyoh’s face.

“How long has he been like this?” Will asked, his voice low.

She did not look up but instead stared at the bandages that encircled the dying man’s torso. Will tried to dislodge the thought, that Hannibal’s condition was so critical he could die, but it had taken hold of his mind and was not about to let go.

“How long?” Will asked again. He took another step forward, his knee bumping against the mattress.

There was a harsh intake of breath which broke Will’s fixation on Chiyoh, bringing it back to Hannibal. The man’s face was contorted, his jaw clenched against the pain. Will’s hand jerked involuntarily towards Hannibal, his own muscles locking and breath catching as he watched Hannibal struggle for control.

Chiyoh reached out, pressing her fingertips onto the bandages above his bullet wound. Hannibal’s gave a strangled sound, only just short of a scream due to his clenched teeth. He tried to shy away from the pressure  but he only made it a few inches towards Will before a fresh wave of pain overtook him.

Will grabbed Chiyoh’s hand and yanked it away from Hannibal. He circled the bed, his fingers tightening around hers as she tried to pull away. He squeezed, savoring the sensation of her delicate bones grinding together beneath his palm.

“Have you called a doctor?” He asked, walking forward, forcing her towards the center of the room.

“I have and-“

“And as soon as he arrives you’ll bring him straight to me.” Will interrupted.

Before she could answer with either words, or a physical blow the doorbell sounded. Will released her with just a moment’s hesitation, gesturing towards the hall.

“Go.” He demanded.

She stood there for just a few seconds, staring at him with a mixture of hatred and disbelief, before she hurried off to answer the door.  


	2. Part 2

A few days after the doctor’s emergency visit Will and Chiyoh were standing in the kitchen. 

“Yes, I called ,” Chiyoh said, her tone just shy of anger. Her thumb hit the speaker option on the phone’s screen. The sound of ringing resounded in the small kitchen. She glared at Will defiantly as the ringing continued. 

His arms remained crossed over his chest, back pressed against wall. A beep came from the phone then the doctor’s English accented voice filled the room. 

“This is Lawrence Chamberlin. I can’t come to the phone right now. Leave your name, number, and a hell of a good reason you’re calling my personal phone. Cheers.” 

The silent standoff continued until Chiyoh pointedly hit end call and shoved it into her pants pocket. “I have left a total of five voicemails during my watch.” She turned to face the door, her back to him as she zipped up her coat. 

Will’s attention did not waver as she slid her hands into her gloves. One glove went on easily but there was a moment’s hesitation when she went to flex her right hand. Distinct bruises marred her skin as a testament to his intervention only two nights before. He shook himself mentally, not willing to follow that thought yet. 

“Any changes?” Will asked. 

“No. He’s just as bad as when you saw him at noon.” The woman’s voice was quite, far softer than he’d ever heard before. Her uninjured hand turned the knob. She paused before looking back at him over her shoulder, giving him a clear view of her face which bore all the marks of exhaustion. “I did not wait too long to call. I waited until the time had passed that Doctor Chamberlin had indicated.” With that she stepped out into the night. 

Will pushed himself off the wall as cold air rushed into the apartment, bringing in a few snowflakes along with it. Will shuddered, arms breaking out into gooseflesh. Between the cooled apartment and the winter storm he doubted he’d know what it felt like to be warm for a while. Normally, that was what extra clothes and coffee were for, but seeing as he’d taken nothing except Hannibal over the side of the cliff coffee would have to do for now.

The coffee was never made. Just as Will had been measuring out grounds obvious sounds of distress came from the back room. Now Will yanked another washcloth from the ice water, his hands shaking as he wrung it out. Careful to avoid touching the other man’s forehead Will removed the old cloth and replaced it with the new. There was a brief pause in Hannibal’s labored breathing at this change although Will knew this wouldn’t last long. 

Will grabbed a few sheets of paper from the nightstand. He stood, needing to be away from the bed and from Hannibal whose suffering kept threatening to overtake him. Will’s feet moved on their own accord, taking him in the now familiar path back and forth across the front of the room. The notes hadn’t changed. There were no new instructions on how to lessen the pain that Hannibal was in. Swallowing hard he read it all again for at least the fourth time. 

The diagnosis was peritonitis. Will had never heard of it until Chamberlin had brought it up. It was an infection of the peritoneum which was the membrane lining the abdomen and its organs. The cause of the infection could be a number of things, one of those being injury. In Hannibal’s case, it was a bullet to the stomach. Symptoms started out as it would with a normal flu. Fever, nausea, vomiting, and stomach pain. That pain increased drastically as the peritoneum became inflamed. Fluid built up in the abdominal cavity, then the muscles locked in the body’s attempt to protect the internal organs. With the infection fully set in, any movement or even the lightest touch caused excruciating pain.  
Treatment was straight forward enough. Strong antibiotics given intermittently through an IV. Other than that they could only manage the symptoms. The doctor had performed an abdominal tap to reduce the pressure caused by the excess fluid. Even that along with industrial strength painkillers and fever reduces had little, if any, effect. 

A low moan from the bed brought an abrupt end to Will’s pacing. Once he had returned the bed he could see Hannibal’s breathing had increased in pace and his face contorted in pain. Wills throat constricted as Hannibal let out another barely audible moan, his fists clenched at his side. Will felt his own hand muscles twitch as they went to mirror Hannibal’s movements. His stomach muscles were taught, and his chest began to match the rise and fall of Hannibal’s. He didn’t know how much longer he could do this.

His eyes wandered from Hannibal to the nightstand. It was littered with pill bottles, cold cups of tea, and half empty water bottles. Beneath the mess lay the vitals notebook, a welcomed sight to his mind that was reaching for any task he could use to draw his thoughts away from the situation at hand. Flipping open to the last used page he scanned the numbers Chiyoh had penned in over the course of the day. Hannibal’s vitals hadn’t changed for the better. His temperature still hovered between one-o-two and one-o-three with his heart rate remained in the one-twenties. 

Will took the opportunity of action, however minimal, to take Hannibal’s current vitals. The man’s temperature had spiked again, the thermometer indicating it was one-o-two point nine. After penciling this new reading into the notebook he swallowed hard. He wished he could just write in a ballpark estimate for heart rate.

Before he could overthink the situation any more than he already had Will reached out, taking Hannibal’s right hand gently with one of his own. Will’s breath caught in his throat as all the anguish he’d been distancing himself from hit him will force. All of Hannibal’s suffering was transferred by a single touch. It would be so easy, Will thought to surrender himself to everything Hannibal had lived with for two weeks. It wasn’t tempting, it would just be easy. 

What wasn’t easy was remaining in the moment which is what he had to do. A deep breath helped center his mind, making the contact with Hannibal bearable. He became keenly aware for the pulsing veins beneath his fingertips as well as the heat which radiated from the ailing man’s skin. He waited until the neon numbers on the digital clock switched to 11:03 to begin counting. At 11:04 he stopped at 107 beats. His brow furrowed as he cast a glance to the previously recorded vitals. The last heart rate was 122 beats per minute. In fact, it’d been constantly in the 120’s until now. He penciled in the newest number before taking another reading. This time he counted only 98 beats.

He removed his fingers from Hannibal’s wrist before wrote in this second number. As he did so Hannibal shifted on the bed, the lines etched by pain on his face deepening. Adverting his eyes Will placed the notebook back on the nightstand before swapping the washcloths and collapsing into the chair beside the bed. 

Will was well aware of Hannibal’s growing distress over the next few hours. Hannibal’s breathing which had slowed when Will had taken his pulse became rapid. He was increasingly restless. If anything, his symptoms were worsening. Will tried not to notice. He did his best to block out the pained sounds that emanated from Hannibal’s throat. It was no use. All of the other man’s agony had begun to seep through the cracks in Will’s protective walls. His own muscles ached from the hours spent in tense waiting. The pain that tore at his empty, churning stomach had become akin to the being gutted. Breathing was difficult, his headache had reached a new intensity. What made all of this worse was that he could no longer tell if all of this pain was his own or Hannibal’s. The lines between them were nonexistent now. Will put his head on his hands, trying desperately to re-center himself.

Seconds into this attempt there was strangled cry from the bed. Will’s head snapped up. He forced himself to look. Hannibal had blanched to the point where not even the flush of fever reached his cheeks. His arms which had been at his sides with his fists clutched around the blankets had wrapped around his stomach, pressing down on the main source of his anguish. Hannibal rolled onto his side, curling in on himself with his back to Will who leapt from his seat. 

There was only a moment’s hesitation before Will grabbed Hannibal by the shoulders, fingers digging into his fever heated skin. As he began to turn Hannibal so he was once again lying on his back the man began draw his knees to his chest, his arms wrapping even more tightly around his stomach. 

Will tried again, desperation rising as he felt the Hannibal’s muscles lock. He couldn’t watch this anymore. He couldn’t watch this decline. His own breath was coming in short gasps. His mind was racing, his own body shaking as he gave a final yank on Hannibal’s shoulders. Once again the man resisted. 

“GOD DAMMIT HANNIBAL! WORK WITH ME.” 

The words surprised him, not only by their volume but by the fact he’d spoken at all. There was a moment of stillness that followed, the only sounds in the room were their ragged breathing. Encouraged by this, Will spoke again. “We’ve got to get you on your back.” When he tried to turn Hannibal this time, he didn’t fight. Once Hannibal was settled his eyes opened slowly and focused on Will’s face. They were glazed and bloodshot but there was that same recognition Will had seen a few days prior. Will removed his hands from Hannibal’s shoulders and took hold of the man’s wrists. With a gentle tug he was able to get Hannibal to unlock his arms and he place them once again on the mattress. After switching out the washcloth on Hannibal’s forehead, Will sat. It was only once Will was at his side did Hannibal close his eyes again. His body was wrought with tension and his muscles were quaking. 

Will’s thoughts had slowed enough for him to pick out one course of action. He reached forward and took Hannibal’s hand. As soon as he did so Hannibal’s fingers clamped down like a vice. His hold on Will’s hand tightened even more as he was hit with another wave of pain. His features contorted and hisbknuckles whiteed s he held on to Will as if he were a lifelinel. He was struggling for control, his entire frame shaking from the effort. 

Only a few minutes passed before Hannibal’s breathing slowed and his features softened,. Hannibal’s fingers, loosened their hold, trembling like the rest of his body from exhaustion. Will didn’t let go. Instead ran his thumb across the back of Hannibal’s hand. This, more than anything Will had tried previously, seemed to calm the ill man, to ground him during the following bouts of pain. As the hours passed, these episodes grew shorter and less intense, which Will attributed to Hannibal finally remaining still, his movements no longer agitating the injuries he’d sustained. 

It was around 1 AM when Hannibal finally had fallen asleep. From his nightly watches and Chiyoh’s notes he was certain Hannibal hadn’t slept soundly for at least a week, only catching an hour or so here and there due to the fever and pain.

It was just past 2 when Will accepted that Hannibal wasn’t going to wake. He had only shifted once during the hour, his hand tightening around Will’s momentarily before he settled once more. Seeing how peaceful Hannibal looked in sleep, made Will keenly aware of how exhausted he was. He took one more look at Hannibal’s sleeping form before carefully laying his free arm on the bed to use as a makeshift pillow. After making sure that he’d not jostled the mattress enough to wake his current roommate, he closed his eyes and welcomed the dark oblivion offered by sleep.


End file.
